


Fandicktion and Fanheart

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU prompt, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Seattle, Cussing, Cute, Fluff, Jean has a fear of thunder, Jean is 20, Jean's POV, M/M, Marco is 22, Mentions of Eren Yeager - Freeform, Nerdy Marco, Punk Jean, Romance, except for the edits i made for my friends literally just now oops, first person POV, okay im finally done updating it lol no more edits, self indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "You're my favourite fanartist and you did fanart of my fic. So I wrote you a fic in return and now you've done fanart for that. You like all my selfies and comment on all my text posts and I do the same to you, and erm, you just posted that you're going to be in my city? Maybe we could meet up?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey, I Just Met You

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift fic for my sibling! please enjoy, and comment if you liked it or saw a mistake that i need to fix!

It was late in the afternoon, maybe three o'clock if I were to take a wild guess, and I had just woken up. I groaned as I made an almost futile attempt to rub the crust of sleep from my closed eyelids with the heels of my palms, hissing when it felt like I would nearly force my eyes into the back of my skull. I cracked open one of them after I let my hands drop to my bed, squinting at my clock and smirking; fuck yeah, I was right! It was 3:12 in the afternoon, which was setting a new record on my score of times I woke up at. 

I made some sort of unintelligible noise in the back of my throat when I forced myself to limply roll out of bed, inching my way over to my rolling desk chair and heaving myself up on top of the cushy seat. I flipped open my laptop's screen, pressing a sleepy finger to the touch pad of the mouse, and swirled it around a bit. The machine came to life shortly after the third swipe of my finger, and I quirked a brow at the screen that was open. Apparently, I hadn't closed out of AO3 last night? Stranger yet was that my account told me that I had been gifted a fanfiction.

I refreshed the page, convinced that it was a fluke, but low and behold beneath the name "kirschFINE" lay the tell-tale "(1)" next to my "Gifts" section. I hurriedly clicked on the link, impatiently waiting for the screen to load. My leg was bouncing quickly beneath the desk, anxiety running through the taught and rapidly moving muscles. Who would gift me? I don't even write on this god forsaken site!

My leg stopped its fervent bouncing, and my eyes grew wide as they took in the username of the person who had gifted me. 

**"One-Hundred-and-Eight" by _jesus-with-freckles_.**

I clicked the title of the fic, biting my lip as the screen loaded and revealed the summary:  _"9 x 12 = 108 ways to show your love for someone, and that's just what Nine had in mind."_ I couldn't believe my eyes! Had _jesus-with-freckles_ really written a gift fic for me?! I scrolled down, reading the authors' note, and my eyes probably almost fell out of my goddamn face.

_"This was written for kirchFINE because of his amazing fanart for my more well-known fanfic. I decided that it was so well drawn that it needed it's own fic, so I wrote this around how the art made me feel! I hope you all enjoy the read, especially kirchFINE!!! - Marco Polo."_

There was no way that _jesus-with-freckles_ had written this sixty-thousand-word-plus oneshot of my favorite pairing from my favorite anime just for me! No way in hell! I scrolled down and began to read, instantly becoming engrossed in the perfect writing that _jesus-with-freckles_ had to offer. It had started out sweet and unassuming, but as this was a oneshot, I knew it would turn out to be less than innocent. 

The build up to the first of the one-hundred-and-eight acts of love was immaculate, giving readers (me) time to figure things out before Twelve could. By the time I had gotten to the fourth act of love, I was apprehensive; Twelve wasn't noticing or reciprocating Nine's feelings at all! At this rate, Lisa would have to help Nine, and that would be awkward, because Lisa had feelings for him. I was swearing up and down, hoping that Lisa wouldn't get involved and fuck things up, and, to my relief, _jesus-with-freckles_ didn't use her. Good job, my man, good job indeed.

I was on the edge of my chair when the fifty-sixth act of love came around, and when the raunchy eightieth act rolled over, my toes were curling against my carpet. Leave it to _jesus-with-freckles_ to know how to get me riled up, yeah? 

I was a panting mess as my hooded eyes ran over the content of act number one-hundred-and-seven, squirming in my seat when it was over. I gave myself time to calm down, scrolling through Tumblr for a hot second, checking Facebook, hell, even going as far as to check my Gaia Online situation. When I was sure I'd be okay to read the final act of love from Nine to Twelve, I clicked back to the tab that held "One-Hundred-and-Eight," and let my eyes fall to the beginning of the final act. My eyes flew past the words, eating them up as the sappy "I love you's" and "you mean the world to me's" spewed from Nine's mouth and into Twelve's ears, and tears welled up when Nine dropped to one knee.

I finished the fic, scrolling down and typing up a comment on how beautiful I thought it was, and how thankful and excited I was that he had taken the time to write this for me.  

I dragged out my tablet, knowing that after reading something as touching as that, that I  _needed_ to draw fanart for it. I set to work on drawing Nine first, starting with his eyes, then his eyebrows and nose and mouth, then his hair, and finally the outline for his kneeling body. I drew Twelve looking down at him, shock and love in eyes, happy tears trailing down to his childish face and gathering at the point of his chin.

I colored in the drawing after cleaning up the line-art, adding the final touches to it before hitting "save." When I looked at the clock, it was seven at night. I snorted to myself at how long I had taken just to read and draw some shit. 

I made my way back over to Tumblr, clicking the photo icon and choosing the file I had saved moments prior. I captioned it "one hundred and eight," and tagged it "fanart," "myart," "terror in resonance," "jesus-with-freckles" and "marco polo." 

* * *

I sat down in my chair once more after a brief snack period, but before I had time to settle down completely, my eyes got the chance to once again bug out of their sockets. There, on _my_ fucking screen, was the notification that I had gotten a _message_ in my inbox on Tumblr. My clumsy fingers scrambled to the touch pad mouse, scrolling shakily to the little red "one" by the envelope and clicked it quickly. 

If I had thought that  my eyes had bugged out before, then they had exploded now. Sitting there, in my inbox, was an ask from _freckles-r-us_. 

"Hey! This is Marco Polo, the one who you drew that fanart for, and also the guy who wrote that gift-fic for you! I seriously love your art, and I just wanted to personally thank you for all of your hard work! Feel free to message me anytime, you seem pretty cool!"

I opened his page in a separate tab before I hastily typed out a reply, telling him that his fics were the shit, and that being his friend would be more than alright with me. After sending him the answering ask, I went over to his [blog](http://freckles-r-us.tumblr.com), and was stunned to see how nice it looked. Gentle music-box tunes played in the background as I scrolled through his glowy posts for a minute, liking a few, even reblogging some others, before checking out his links and opening a few in new tabs. 

The first tab I had opened was his deviantart, and it made me giggle before I deemed it kinda useless and closed it. The next one was his twitter, which I discreetly followed and retweeted from. The last link was his Facebook, which I added before I could chicken out. I returned to his blog afterward, scrolling aimlessly and occasionally reblogging or liking some odd post or another. Just as I was getting bored and was about to leave, the mouse hovered once more over the links menu, and I noticed that I hadn't looked at all of them. God... Was this like, akin to stalking? I sure hoped not.

The final few links in the list consisted of "submit," "fandoms," "my fanfiction," "fan art," "tag list," "pixel family," "faq," "about me," and "my face."

I opened his "my face" page in a second tab before clicking the "about me" link, letting it take me to the section of text that would tell me more about him.

_"Hi! My name is Marco, and I'm 22. I'm a Sophomore in College, and I'm studying towards English and Literature! I have two dogs and a cat, and three fish. I write fanfiction for the fandoms I'm in, and appreciate all forms of fanwork in response! I'm currently accepting two request-fics per week, so try and be one of the lucky two first prompts! I rarely do gift fics, so please don't ask. Honorable url mentions are: **b00ty-s00t-ymir, kristalight, jaegermeisterisbae, springle-has-sprung,** and last but definitely not least, **pleasebe-kirsmine!** "_

_Pleasebe-kirsmine_? But...  that's fucking me! _I'm_ pleasebe-kirsmine! I was sure to open his pixel family next, practically screaming when my eyes landed on a tiny pixel horse waving it's cute little butt back and forth, the hover name reading " _pleasebe-kirsmine_." I didn't even care that I was put as a horse in a row of normal pixel people, I was just damn happy I was even _there_. 

After spending maybe forty more minutes on Marco's blog, I suddenly remembered I had opened another tab. I dragged my cursor over to the tab and clicked it, nearly choking on my own saliva at the string of selfies I was attacked with.

Freckles. There were freckles _everywhere_. The first image of Marco had him with his shirt off, and his chest was not only fucking _painted_ with freckles, but it was toned as hell, too. Shit, fuck, he's _hot!_ That's not fair!

I made quick work of liking almost every one of his pictures, saving a few as references to maybe draw later. It only hit me how creepy that could have been when I liked the last (technically first) selfie ever posted by him. Well, too late now, right? 

I eventually got off of his blog, going back to my dash only to find that I had two new messages and one new follower. I panned over to my inbox, letting my eyes fall on the chipper words Marco had to say to me. The first message he had sent was 

_"I can see we will probably be great friends! Your blog is amazing, and your fandoms are the bomb! But I think the best content on your page is definitely your art! I don't really know what to say since I'm assuming you have read/will read my "About Me" page haha :)"_

The second read:

_"You really like my blog, hmm? ;)"_

Almost as soon as I was getting ready to reply, I got a slew of notifications. I opened my activity page in a new tab and went over to it, postponing my response until I checked what had happened. I waited a little impatiently for the page to load, tapping my fingers against the desk repeatedly. When it finally loaded, I had to do a double take.

The first thirty most recent notes were from _freckles-r-us_ , and they were all likes or reblogs of _my_ selfies. Then, after refreshing the page, the next top sixty notes were all reblogs and likes of my art. Freckles-r-us quickly became my number one fan, which was hard to do on a normal day, but giving someone nearly one-hundred notes in the span of a few moments will probably do that. 

I quickly returned to my response tab, typing out my reply to Marco.

_"i could say the same to you, freckles"_

I only had to wait a few minutes before there was a new message in my inbox once more, and it took me a while to realize that it had made me blush a little.

_"You have a nice face. What's wrong with that, Jean?"_

It took all my willpower not to pass out from holding my breath right there.

* * *

After at least a week of back and forth messages to Marco, it became apparent that we both found the other extremely attractive. Like, unnecessarily so. We tried real hard to keep it from reaching the other, but it ended up being a lot like that vine that goes: "Just a pair of guys bein' dudes! Just a pair of dudes bein' bro's! Just a pair of bro's bein' gay's!"

Today was one of the days where I had decided to be on Tumblr for the entirety of the day. I was scrolling mindlessly down, occasionally bringing up a new tab to play some music, when I landed on an original post from _freckles-r-us_. Skimming it was a mistake, I realized, as I had obviously missed some key knowledge in it.

_"To all my Seattle followers, prepare yourselves to feel the divine grace of Freckled Jesus himself! Haha, just kidding. To all of you beautiful people out there in Seattle who just so happen to like my fics or posts enough, I wanted to let you know that I'll be there for a little while, and that you should totally try to hang out with me! It'd be super cool to meet some of you! Send me an ask or some fanmail and let me know when to chill with you! I'll be here for the next 2 months!"_

The sound that tried its damnedest to claw it's way out of my throat was garbled and odd, landing somewhere between a groan, a hiss, and a choked scream. My fingers were sending me to Marco's ask box before I had time to realize it, and I had sent him an ask telling him that I lived in Seattle.

Nearly an hour of shaking nervousness later, and I received a new message. I clicked my inbox and read the message that was clearly from Marco.

_"Hey, Jean! So far it's been like, maybe six hours and your the only person who said they were here in Seattle, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up? My number is 524-XXX-XXXX! Text me or call me so we can work out the details! :)"_

The amount of speed with which my hands fumbled for my phone was insane, and I nearly dropped it four times.

I need to calm the fuck down.

I somehow managed to type in the number, adding it to my contacts before sending him a text.

**To: Freckled Angel**

**hey this is jean**

I waited apprehensively, positively breathing on the screen of my phone as I waited anxiously for the reply to come through.

**From: Freckled Angel**

**Hi, Jean! I arrived in Washington a few hours ago! Mind telling me where to let the taxi driver to go so I can meet up with you? It can be anywhere you're comfortable with. :)**

Him and his damn smilies.

I took a moment to think of a place before sending him the address of my favorite bookstore-slash-coffee-shop of all time. I jumped out of my desk chair and practically flew to my closet. My thin fingers found purchase on a well-worn but still nice NBHD t-shirt, my tight-as-sin grey skinny jeans, a pair of deep red combat boots, and a beanie nearly the same color as the boots. 

I dressed quickly, rolling on some deodorant and a quick spray of cheap cologne beneath my chin before grabbing my keys and sprinting out of my dorm room. I practically dove into my car as I sped off to the cafe, trying and failing to stay with the speed limit. I finally slowed down when I nearly hit some poor old biddy, who screamed and held a knobby, wrinkly, gnarl of a fist out at me and shook it for good measure.

I had made it to Wall Rose Cappuccino in about seven minutes, when it usually took me around fifteen to twenty. I parked quickly, haphazardly shoving my keys into my pocket after I locked my junky cars' door.

I took a deep breath before I pushed open the frosty glass door to the cozy cafe that lay beyond.


	2. Thunder is not for the Weak of Heart

I pushed the door open to reveal the cozy interior of Wall Rose, walking up to the growing line of coffee deprived people. The warmth was welcome in comparison to the cold rain scented air outside. God, I hoped it wouldn't rain. When it rained here, it poured, and while I didn't mind the rain itself, if there was thunder I'd get scared. 

I ended up standing behind this tall person, who, from behind, looked like a complete loser. I'm talking shirt tucked in, sweater vest over dress shirt, khakis with the belt showing and pastel blue floral oxford shoes. Seriously, how lame could you get? The only remotely okay thing about this guy was his hair cut, and even that was a stretch because I couldn't see the front of it.

Soon enough, the guy was ordering his drink; it was boring, just some plain, heavy black coffee with no creamer or sugar in it. He reached out a freckled hand and grabbed the piping hot mug, and when I chanced a glance inside, it was blacker than the shirt I was wearing.

I feared for him.

By the time I had the chance to watch him take the only good window seat (which happened to be my usual seat, jerk) it was my turn to order. I asked for some overly sweet, cookie-and-fudge dipped monstrosity that could only be described as diabetes in a huge mug, and took the nearly scalding container to the sugar station.

I stood before the few choices of things someone could add to their drinks, and a few people gave me some weird looks. After dumping about half of the contents of the sugar box into my coffee, I pulled out my phone and made my way to the seat that the guy with hand-freckles had taken and almost dropped my mug.

"Shit! Hey, are you Marco?" I asked, righting my hand before my drink spilled out everywhere. 

Smooth, really.

"Yeah! You're Jean, right?" His voice was deep, deeper than mine at least, and it sounded nice when my name rolled off of his tongue. I nodded to him and took a seat, setting my coffee on the table while he eyed it suspiciously. "What is that and why on earth did you add _more_ sugar to it?"

"Can't a guy have something sweet in his otherwise bitter life?" I asked, raising a brow as I stirred the sugar, whipped cream, and cookie bits into the drink, making sure there were no gross granules left at the bottom. "You gonna write some fic of this?" 

"What?" he raised one of his eyebrows, confusion crawling onto his freckled face.

"Because," I say, less confident than before, "It's a coffee shop AU, right? Like the tons of other ones that everyone makes literally every day." I take a sip of my over-sugared coffee so that I don't spew more word vomit. Really, great first impression, right?

He makes a face at the fact that I can actually bring the drink up to my mouth and consume it, obviously put off by the amount of sugar and crap in the mug. Then, after what I had said sinks in, he lets out a bark of a laugh, falling off into a fit of giggles before nodding at me repeatedly.

"Yeah! Totally! Are you," he breaks off for a moment to laugh a little more before continuing, "Are you gonna draw fanart?

Fanart? Was I gonna draw... Fanart? Of us? Together? What if the fic took a more... raunchy turn? What if Story Marco started getting undressed? Fuck, does Marco have ass freckles? Do those freckles stand out more? _Are there any on his di-_

My train of thought was stopped when I heard my phone crash to the floor with a loud crack against the tile. It startled Marco and I, but before I had the chance to reach down and get it, Marco was already crouched under the table with a freckled hand searching almost blindly for the cool metal rectangle. When Marco seemingly found it, he was practically in my lap with his face achingly close to my skinny-jeans clad crotch. 

I took in a sharp breath and opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weirdly breathy, kind of creepy, stuttered "Hi."

Marco grinned up at me from his position between my legs. Fuck him and his innocent little smile, god, did he not even realize how this looked?

"Hello!" 

He was about to hand me my phone when we both heard an elderly couple come our way. A waterlogged old man (fuck, it must have rained while i was getting coffee) was pushing around an even older, even wetter lady, and it seemed as though they wanted to take the table to our right. Marco's legs were in their way, and the old lady looked kind of pissed about it. Marco was frozen, kneeling beneath the table and probably looking for a way to get out from under it.

Going out to his right was impossible, because the soggy old man was standing there and didn't seem to be moving any time soon. Going back to his chair wasn't an option anymore either, at least for the time being, because the old lady had pushed his chair in so that she could sit in her wheelchair and wait for Marco's legs to be moved from her spot. The only way for him to get out was to come up with me in my seat.

Marco must have realized this too, because soon enough he was coming up from beneath the table and his _hands_ were on my _thighs_ and _Jesus was that his chest rubbing up against me?_ It took him what seemed like ages to pull himself up and right into my lap and _oh god he is straddling me, lord save me, please._

There was an almost painfully tense air around us while I stared up at Marco, who was still in my lap, and he stared back. He had a small smile on his lips while he gazed into my face, but when I thought I had caught a blush on his freckled cheeks, he was already rolling off of me and to my side, setting my phone down on top of the table before he apologized to the elderly couple.

The old people sat and thanked him, albeit rudely, and Marco stood and scampered back to his seat once he realized that the old lady was no longer forcing his seat to be pushed in. He scratched his neck nervously, looking at the reflective surface of the table before bringing his hazel eyes up to my gaze.

"Sorry about that," he said, tossing his head in the direction of the still scowling old couple. "I didn't think they'd be there, and going up in your seat was the only way out." 

"It's, uh," I looked away from him for a moment, noticing that it had rained, there were puddles everywhere, but at least it had stopped. I returned my attention to him, muttering out "It's okay, uh, I didn't really mind."

Marco blinked at me before cracking a small grin. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when we both heard a tapping sound on the window. We turned our heads and I groaned; it was raining again. Nothing too heavy yet, but that could easily change.

We spoke for hours, talking about our homes, even if it was mostly me talking about what there was to do here in Seattle. He told me that he only had the suitcase next to him and his duffle bag with him, and how he hoped hotel rates weren't too outrageous here. We spoke of how long it took me to get to where I am as an artist, and how long he had been writing for. Eventually our talk shifted to if we were in relationships, which was awkward until we both managed to spit out that we were both single and super gay. Marco's flight came up a few times, and he even had a few funny stories about some people on the plane. I chanced another glance out the window, noticing that the rain had picked up, if only a little bit.

"Hey, Marco, we should probably try to get out of here before it starts to rain any harder. Don't want to get stuck here, much as I love this cafe, ya feel?"

Marco took a large gulp from his black as night coffee and I winced; seriously, how could he drink that?

We sat in silence, drinking our coffee with as much speed as the still hot substances would allow us, trying to beat the storm, but we had no such luck. I was barely half finished with my mug when I heard the rain pick up, fat drops banging against the window. Marco and I made eye contact over the rims of our mugs, knowing full well that we would have to venture out into the pouring rain. 

We gulped down the last of our drinks, each of us setting a tip under the massive mugs and standing up to stretch our limbs. He grabbed his bags, and it reminded me of his housing situation, or, rather, the lack thereof.

"Hey, Marco, you still don't really have anywhere to stay, right?"

"Not... really? No. Why, are hotels here expensive?" he raised one black eyebrow in my direction.

"Well, since there's like, some kind of history convention going on downtown, most of the hotels here jacked the prices up way fucking high. So unless you're willing to pay around three-hundred dollars a night, I have an offer to make." Marco looked at me skeptically, crossing his bag laden arms.

"Well, offer it to me, won't you?"

"I have a really big dorm and literally no roommates, and I know my school wouldn't really care anyway. Wanna stay at my place 'till you head back home?" I was really pushing my luck here, wasn't I?

"Sure! I wouldn't mind, if you're really okay with that."

Well that was unexpected.

"Let's get fuckin' moving then, yeah?" I cracked a smirk and he smiled back.

I held the door open for Marco, shivering when the cold damp air hit my face, and walked out behind him. He walked down the street to the intersection, a few feet from where I parked, when he dropped his bags and lost his balance after turning to face me. He must have tripped on something? I was about to go help him when I noticed he was falling face first into the road and a car was coming around the corner at speeds it really shouldn't have been. 

I raced toward him and reached my arms out, grabbing him around the waist and bunching my fists in his sweater. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were wide; he was scared. He grabbed onto me for a second, probably realizing how close of a call that that was.

"Holy shit," he whispered, voice shaky.

"Wow," I whispered back, breathing to find that it smelled like lavender soap, rain, and something heady and almost like cinnamon. 

"I almost died!" He whisper-shouted, shivering at the thought.

"Yeah, you did."

"But, hey, you saved me. You literally saved my life just now." He took in a deep and rattled breath, eyes tightly shut "I don't know how to repay you for that. Thank you, Jean." The way my name fell from his lips had me shaking for other reasons that were probably not appropriate for the situation. Fuck me and my teenage-like hormones, Jesus Christ.

I was loosening my grip from around his waist, ready to turn and help him grab his soggy bags, when there was a clap of thunder. 

I froze.

"Jean?" Marco was tense in my grasp, but I couldn't let go. I couldn't let go, I couldn't let _go._

"Jean, what's wrong?" His last word was punctuated with another slap from the thunder, louder this time, and I began to shake.

_Don't let go of me, please don't let go of me._

"...Are you afraid of the thunder?" He was less stiff in my arms, and when I nodded quickly, he relaxed and brought my clenched fists up to his chest, trapping them between us, and slowly began rubbing my back with one hand. The other arm snaked around my body, holding me closer to him. My shaking stopped, but my tears didn't, and I think he realized that, because he held me tighter.

"Hey, shhh, you're okay, Jean, you're okay. It's okay." 

The only response he got from me was a shaky exhale of breath, and I felt shitty for not being able to use real words. I felt him shift a little, and I looked up. I must have looked pitiful, because his expression softened, and he spoke quietly.

"Where's your car? I'll bring you to it, and then I'll grab my stuff and we can go. I can even drive, if you want." 

I nodded to everything he said, reaching into my pocket and grabbing my keys. I pointed to my car and held the keys out to him after I unlocked it, dropping my keys out of fear when another loud clap assaulted my ears. He tuned toward me, a kind of expectant look on his face, probably wanting me to walk, but I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. I tried to move one leg, but nothing happened. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I looked toward him with unseeing eyes and just stood there like a kicked puppy. 

_Please make it go away._

He sighed and turned away from me, reaching for his luggage, and I panicked. He was leaving me. He was _leaving_ me here, in the thunder and rain, and I wouldn't stop him,  _couldn't_ stop him. I was too afraid. I watched his tall figure walk away, watched his back recede in the direction of my car, and just cried silently.

I was such a loser.

_The lightening will get me, the thunder will drown out my screams._

_Please help me! I'm so scared, so scared, so scared.  
_

_Don't leave me here like this._

_I'm scared._

I closed my eyes and let the hot tears fall, crossing my arms and hunching over a bit, letting the cold rain soak me to my core. I would jump every now and then when there was thunder and huddled in closer on myself every time. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and nearly screamed, turning around so hard that I almost fell, but strong hands caught me before I could.

"Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay, Jean, it's just me. It's okay, you're okay." Marco pushed my hair back and wiped the tears from my eyes, which was almost useless because it was still raining, but I didn't question it. He held his arms out to me and I tilted my head, flinching hard when I heard a loud boom that felt closer than the rest. 

"I'll carry you to your car, so come here," he had said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I halted for only a second before I inched over to him and let him pick me up bridal style. I buried my face in his warm freckled neck and let him carry me to my car. He set me in the passenger seat before closing the door and scurrying over to the drivers side. He slid in and buckled up, glancing at me.

"I'm... going to need your address," he stated, starting up the car and turning up the heat.

With unsteady hands, I typed my address into my phone and turned up the volume. He backed out of the parking space and began driving, following Siri's instructions closely. He reached over and patted me on the thigh, and I smiled weakly back at him.

"What kind of badass like me cries over noise from the sky?" I muttered as my eyelids fell shut.

Whatever his reply was fell on deaf ears, because I fell asleep with stupid tear tracks on my face and my phone gripped tightly in my fingers.


	3. Life Imitates Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is seriously just self indulgent fluff.

Two weeks had passed since the thunderstorm incident, and Marco hadn't brought it up or hinted at it or anything, bless his freckled little soul. I could tell he was curious, and that he wouldn't mind hearing why I was so scared of the vibrating cracks of sound from the sky, why every little tremor and deafening boom from the air that shook my bones made me cry the way it did, but he wasn't one to pry. It was obvious that consent was high on his list of priorities, and that made being around him easy. Made me comfortable. That's probably why we had gotten together so quickly, honestly. He was caring and he took things slow, and it wasn't like he and I were strangers; months of Tumblr and all that.

My friends thought we made a cute couple, too, so the support made it easier for us to want to date.

It dawned on me that Marco would be leaving soon.

I tried not to think about it.

At present, Marco and I were sitting on my very small couch in one of the emptier spaces in my dorm room, watching some show called "Attack on Titan," where all the characters looked eerily like people we both knew in real life, ourselves included, and we fight these giant monster people with huge mouths and no dicks called titans, and everything is super dramatic but also really cool. When Anime Jean appeared on screen, I scoffed, deciding that while, _yeah_ , he might have my _killer looks_ , but he was definitely nothing like the real me; far too cocky to be anything like the real deal. Anime Marco on the the other hand, was spot on; sweet, warm, and kind, empowering and encouraging and just all around great. And of course, he had freckles, too. Anime Eren was about as obnoxious as real life Eren, except now he had a focus for his never-ending spiels instead of going on and on about absolutely nothing. Every time Eren was on screen (which was most of the time) I had to physically hold myself back from punching the TV, because it was always "titans this," "scouts that," "KILL ALL THE TITAAAAAANNNNNNSSSS," "TITAAAAAAAAAANS." Like, god, man, get a _life_.

He made Marco laugh though, so he couldn't be that bad.

By episode thirteen, we were growing drowsy, nearly falling onto one-another as our eyes fought to stay open. We were just about to drift off in to a warm, cuddle-filled sleep when I bolted up from my position at the sight of a dead man; dead _Marco_ to be exact. Except it wasn't _really_ Marco, but Anime Marco. He was bitten in half, only having his leg spared from the mouth of some asshole titan, and by the looks of it, it was entirely Anime Jean's fault. Both Anime Jean and I felt like shit, but where Anime Jean had no one to really console him, I had real Marco to reach up and caress my face. I looked down at him and my expression instantly softened. He pressed his forehead to mine and I let my eyes flutter closed, probably tickling his cheeks with my eyelashes.

I could feel his smile already. 

At some point Marco had turned off the television, leaving the room to bask in a soft electronic blue from the TV's default screen setting.

He hummed lightly and moved his hand from cupping my cheek to stroking my hair, scratching every so often at the spot where my buzz met longer hair. I sighed and sunk into him, melting into the touch and wrapping my arms around him loosely. 

"Would you mind terribly if I suggested that we go take a nap?" he asked, planting tiny butterfly kisses to my cheeks and nose while I settled against him further.

"'Course I don't mind," I mutter into his collar bone. "Would you carry me there?"

He shifts and heaves me into his arms, giving me my answer, and I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head on his warm chest. He maneuvers through the narrow hallway that leads to my room, turning off lights as he goes, and somehow managing to get both of our bodies through the doorway without so much as jostling me. He sets me down on my side of the bed, watching my practically boneless body sink into the mattress before I roll over onto the side he usually claims and inhaling deeply. 

He always smells so nice.

When I turn my face back toward Marco, I have just enough time to catch the hint of a blush high on his cheeks before he's turning around to turn off the light, asking a quiet "Do you need anything before I lay down?"

"Yeah, actually. D'you think you could put these in the laundry basket?" I say, giving him little to no time to catch my wadded up shirt and pants. I wiggle around in my boxers, still on his side of the bed, and drag the blankets up to my nose. 

He blinks down at the ball of clothes in his hands before setting it neatly on top of the dirty clothes pile, adding his own ratty shirt to the mix before sliding into bed with me. He winds his long arms around my bony torso, and I settle closer to him, nose pressed to the warm skin of his neck.

"That freaked me out more than thunder," I say, eyes closed, but not asleep yet.

"I could tell," he murmurs, resting his chin atop my head. Damn him and his tallness! 

"I'd hate to see anything bad actually happen to you," the thought alone makes me physically shiver, and he holds me tighter against him. "Anything."

"Same goes for you, Jean." his breathing slowly begins to even out.

"You leave soon," it wasn't a question.

"I can change that, I'm not in school at the moment, since I finished this quarter, and I don't really have much to miss back home."

"You don't have to stay here just because of me," I sigh, shifting to roll away from him.

"'M'gonna," he starts, obviously about to add more to it.

But more never comes, and soon enough, I hear the tell-tale sounds of sleep from above my head, and my own sleepy breaths join his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this came out so cute and im so happy


End file.
